Drive-in confidential

Friday

Mar 28, 2014 at 12:01 AMMar 28, 2014 at 1:08 PM

Jay Ashley / Times-News

Graham’s city fathers voted recently to delete from their books regulations related to drive-in movies.

You rarely hear about politicians taking any laws off the books because taking laws off the books is not in the politician’s handbook. Adding laws is in the handbook. And it’s a big ol’ section, too, including a few paragraphs on how to pretend laws are on the books, even when they’re not, when the situation warrants it.

It was strange that Graham had rules and regulations about drive-in movies anyway, since Graham has never had a drive-in movie in its entire existence. If you lived in Graham and wanted a legitimate place to take your gal to see an outdoor moving picture show and do a little private smooching, well, you went to one of the drive-ins in Burlington. If you didn’t care too much about watching a movie, you could have hopped over to park by the shores of Snoffer’s Lake.

In my youth, we had the Bur-Gra Drive-In on Maple Avenue, the Circle G on N.C. 87 and the East 70 on North Church Street across from the junk yard.

Drive-ins were ideal for a number of reasons. You could go see a movie and enjoy it from the comfort of your ‘48 Nash. You didn’t have to worry about your neighbors talking during the movie because they were in a Nash of their own, out of earshot. You could smoke cigarettes and sing real loud or talk back to the screen without bothering a soul. You could sip your libation of choice from a bottle you kept in a brown bag under the seat. If you went with your aforementioned favorite gal and the movie wasn’t good (and really, what’s bad about a Godzilla movie?), you could have lengthy conversations about philosophy or Middle Eastern religions or the Dadaist art movement. Once those topics were exhausted, you could sit real close to one another because Nashes, like almost every other car, had bench seats, not bucket seats. In fact, bucket seats and floor shifters were among the many variables that likely caused the demise of drive-in courting.

After a proper period of courting, you and your gal would get married and you would still go to the drive-in because it was cheap entertainment and you didn’t have to dress up. If the movie wasn’t good (and really, what’s bad about a John Wayne western?), you could talk about getting a new car, maybe a station wagon, the latest trends in women’s sack dresses or starting a family.

Ah, the family. When the family started arriving, you tossed out the cigarettes, tossed out that bottle under the seat, and you tossed the kids into the back of the station wagon and headed for the drive-in. The kids could play on the swings the drive-in management so fortuitously installed near the screen. The East 70 had a great little playground. That’s where we learned my little sister was prone to lapsing into anaphylactic shock when she was stung by some wasps that built an apartment under the slide.

Mom would bring everyone’s pajamas, some popcorn she made at home and put into a large Byrd’s Food Store paper sack, maybe a ham sandwich or some pimento cheese, and you’d drop the tailgate and have a picnic before the feature started. By the time Rock Hudson finally got a kiss from Doris Day, the kids would be asleep and, maybe, Mom and Dad might be nodding off, too. Dad would jerk awake at the sound of neighboring cars cranking up. He’d start up the station wagon and drive off with the speaker still hanging on the side window. He’d drop a few choice epithets under his breath, stop the car, return the speaker, check to make sure the window wasn’t cracked and head home, where he’d tote little brother and sister to their beds and he and Mom would talk about the honey-do list she had for him to do tomorrow after work.

At its height, the East 70 was the shining star of drive-ins. It boasted two screens, a flat admission rate (so you didn’t have to sneak in friends in the trunk of the car) and one of the best snack bars you could expect. They even had pizza.

Alas, if video killed the radio star, it didn’t do much for the drive-in movie industry either. By the mid-‘70s or so, most of them were closing or in dire need of financial injections. Some served as flea market venues during the week. Some turned to porn.

The Circle G turned to porn and made quite a bit of hay for a while. But you could see the screen from the highway and neighbors put up a squawk. I remember running one story in which County Commissioner Earl Danieley went on a fact-finding mission and was quite shocked what he saw on the movie screen from the picture window of a constituent who was an across-the-street neighbor of the drive-in. Not long after that, the Circle G began sprouting large lights that pointed outward, preventing sneak peeking from neighbors or passing motorists. Ultimately, the drive-in sprouted weeds and was permanently “Closed for the Season.”

If you’re interested in starting a drive-in movie, you might have some luck in Graham. It’s a lawless town now for such goings-on these days.

And really, what’s bad about that?

Jay Ashley is managing editor of the Times-News. He’s a fan of drive-in movies at jashley@thetimesnews.com